Chapter 5 - The Red Notice
Victor returned at seven twelve the next morning.
That was the first thing that went wrong with my theory.
Men who flee with evidence usually do not come back wearing a charcoal suit and carrying coffee.
He walked through the front entrance as if nothing had happened.
Lena met him before I did.
By the time I reached the foyer, she had his badge in her hand.
Victor looked mildly annoyed.
Nothing more.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked.
“No,” Lena said.
“Then I would like my property back.”
“The badge belongs to Mr. Rossi.”
Victor looked at me.
“I assumed this theatricality was yours.”
I stopped three feet away.
“Where are the boxes?”
“What boxes?”
“The archive boxes you removed yesterday.”
Understanding crossed his face.
Then something close to disappointment.
“Records storage.”
“Which storage?”
“Our contracted facility in Elk Grove Village.”
“Why?”
“Because those files were scheduled for transfer.”
“Show me the schedule.”
“It is in my office.”
“You no longer have access to your office.”
His eyes hardened.
“On what basis?”
“On the basis that a forged employee signature appears on an invoice your department approved.”
The foyer became very quiet.
One of the morning cleaners stopped at the far end of the hall.
Lena glanced toward her.
The woman disappeared immediately.
Victor lowered his voice.
“You should not discuss allegations in an open hallway.”
“You are right.”
I pointed toward my office.
“Inside.”
He followed without argument.
Lena came with us.
Victor sat only after I did.
I put the North Meridian invoice on the desk.
He read it.
His expression changed slightly when he saw Tessa’s name.
Not shock.
Recognition.
“You have seen this before,” I said.
“I have seen thousands of invoices.”
“That was not my question.”
He looked at the amount.
“Possibly.”
“Tessa did not work here on that date.”
“Then receiving entered the wrong name.”
“The signature appears digitally copied from her hiring paperwork.”
Victor looked up.
“Are you accusing me of forgery?”
“I am asking why a vendor you repeatedly approved billed me for products my chef says he never ordered.”
Victor leaned back.
“Marco does not handle every household purchase.”
“He handles every food purchase.”
“Not event overflow.”
“What event?”
“I would need to check.”
“You cannot.”
His mouth tightened.
“Because you disabled my access before asking me to explain.”
“Yes.”
“That is reckless.”
“So is attaching an employee’s name to a six-week-old invoice.”
Victor folded his hands.
“Let me save us both time.”
His calmness irritated me more than denial would have.
“You have decided I am the villain because Miss Cole cried on your marble floor.”
Lena’s eyes shifted toward me.
Victor had just admitted he knew details that had never been shared with him.
I kept my face still.
“Who told you she cried?”
For the first time, his composure slipped.
Only a little.
“Staff talk.”
“You said that before.”
“Because it is true.”
“Who watched the footage?”
“I have no idea.”
“The access log was purged.”
“That is a security problem.”
“It was purged through an administrator account you can access.”
“So can others.”
He looked at Lena.
She did not react.
Victor continued.
“If you have evidence, call your attorneys.”
“If you have suspicion, investigate quietly.”
“But do not destroy my reputation because you are ashamed of how you treated one employee.”
The sentence landed because part of it was true.
I was ashamed.
That did not make him innocent.
“Where are the boxes?” I asked again.
“I told you.”
“Elk Grove Village.”
“Facility name?”
“Midwest Archive Solutions.”
Lena wrote it down.
“Unit?”
“Corporate account.”
She left the room to make the call.
Victor and I sat in silence.
He looked around my office with the faint contempt of a man who believed he had been indispensable longer than his employer realized.
“Do you know what your mistake is?” he asked.
I almost laughed.
“You seem eager to tell me.”
“You think wealth protects you from manipulation.”
“It does the opposite.”
“People study you.”
“They learn what makes you feel noble.”
“They learn what makes you feel guilty.”
“Then they put the correct wound in front of you.”
I stared at him.
“Are you talking about Tessa?”
“I am talking about human nature.”
“No.”
“You are talking about Tessa.”
Victor said nothing.
I leaned forward.
“Say it plainly.”
“She is desperate.”
“So?”
“Desperate people do things comfortable people cannot imagine.”
“That includes working sixteen hours and eating toast so two boys can have dinner.”
His face did not move.
“You know only what she told you.”
“And you know what?”
Victor’s eyes held mine.
“I know that sympathy makes poor evidence.”
Before I could answer, Lena came back in.
Her expression told me enough.
“Midwest Archive Solutions has our account.”
Victor inclined his head as if to say I told you so.
Lena continued.
“But no delivery was made yesterday.”
Victor’s face did not change.
“They have no record of Mr. Hale entering the facility.”
I looked at him.
He looked at Lena.
Then back at me.
“That is impossible.”
“Where are the boxes?” I asked.
His voice sharpened.
“I took them there.”
“They say you did not.”
“Then their system is wrong.”
“What was in them?”
“Old personnel files.”
“Whose?”
“Former temporary staff.”
“Why remove them yourself?”
“Because Dana is away and records were overdue.”
Lena stepped closer.
“Your vehicle crossed the west gate at five oh three.”
“It returned at six forty-eight.”
“That is one hour forty-five minutes.”
“Elk Grove and back fits.”
“Except you never arrived.”
Victor stood.
“Either charge me with something or let me contact counsel.”
“You are free to contact anyone you want,” I said.
“You are not free to access my systems.”
“Effective immediately, you are suspended.”
Something finally cracked in his expression.
Not fear.
Fury.
“You are making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“But it will be my mistake.”
He looked at Lena.
“My personal items are in my office.”
“I will escort you.”
He turned at the door.
Then looked at me one last time.
“You are going to learn very quickly that feeding people is easier than knowing them.”
The door closed behind him.
I sat alone for a moment.
Then I called my attorneys.
By ten, a forensic accounting team was reviewing household expenses.
By noon, North Meridian Provisions had become a confirmed shell company.
By one, we knew the bank account receiving my money had transferred most deposits within twenty-four hours to three other accounts.
None were in Victor’s name.
That bothered me.
A simple thief wants money.
A careful thief wants distance.
At two fifteen, Marco knocked on my office door.
He looked angry.
“Tessa did not come in.”
I checked the time.
“She called?”
“No.”
“She is never late.”
I reached for my phone.
Then stopped.
Calling her directly felt different now.
Not wrong.
Just personal in a way our relationship had not earned yet.
“Did anyone check with the diner?”
Marco nodded.
“She worked breakfast.”
“Left at eleven.”
“Then what?”
“No idea.”
At three, her phone went straight to voicemail.
At four, I told myself I was not worried.
At four fifteen, I told myself I was lying.
At four twenty-seven, the gate called.
“Mr. Rossi, there is a boy here asking for Miss Cole.”
My body went still.
“What boy?”
“Teenager.”
“Says he is her brother.”
I was out of my chair before the guard finished.
The front drive was wet with afternoon rain.
A thin boy stood inside the pedestrian gate wearing a black sweatshirt two sizes too large.
His hair was soaked.
He held a backpack against his chest.
The moment he saw me, suspicion came over his face.
I knew immediately this was Eli.
Tessa had the same eyes when she thought someone was trying to help too much.
“You Zo Rossi?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“My sister works here.”
“I know.”
“She is not answering.”
“We have been trying to reach her too.”
His face tightened.
I crouched slightly so I was not speaking down at him, then realized a thirteen-year-old might hate that more.
I straightened again.
“When did you last see her?”
“This morning.”
“Was she sick?”
“No.”
“Upset?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation felt familiar.
“Eli.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How do you know my name?”
“Your sister told me she has two brothers.”
“She did not tell you our names.”
He was right.
Tessa had not.
The truth was I had asked payroll for emergency contact records after the forged invoice appeared.
That explanation would sound exactly like what it was.
An intrusion that had a reason.
“Your name is in her emergency file.”
His expression hardened.
“She is not an emergency.”
“I hope not.”
He shifted the backpack.
Then I noticed a folded paper sticking from the front pocket.
White with a red stripe.
My stomach tightened.
“Where is your other brother?”
“With Mrs. Ellis downstairs.”
“The neighbor whose husband picked up food Saturday?”
Eli looked surprised.
“You know Ray?”
“No.”
“I know of him.”
The boy studied me.
Then he pulled the paper from his backpack.
“Our landlord changed the lock.”
My anger rose instantly.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Were you inside?”
“No.”
“Noah got home and his key did not work.”
“Where are your belongings?”
“In the apartment.”
“Did they give notice?”
He handed me the paper.
It was not an eviction order.
It was a final demand.
Five business days.
The deadline was that afternoon.
No court judgment.
No sheriff.
No legal lockout authorization.
I was not a housing lawyer, but even I knew landlords could not simply erase people from their homes because a deadline passed.
“How much?” I asked.
He looked ashamed.
That made me angry too.
“Two thousand eight hundred forty.”
He pointed at the page.
“It says it there.”
I read it.
Then I saw the handwritten note beneath the printed total.
NEW BALANCE AFTER FEES: $3,460.
“Where is Tessa?” I asked.
“I do not know.”
His voice cracked for the first time.
“She went to talk to him.”
“The landlord?”
Eli nodded.
“When?”
“After the diner.”
“Where?”
“His office on Cicero.”
My phone was already in my hand.
Lena answered.
“I need a car.”
“Where are we going?”
I looked at Eli.
May you like
“To find Tessa.”
